No longer mourn for me when I am dead (Sonnet 71)

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Given warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so
That I in you sweetest thoughts would be forgot
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O, if I say, you look upon this verse
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,
But let your love even with my life decay,
    Lest the wise world should look into your moan
    And mock you with me after I am gone.